The Beauty Is
by jtav
Summary: Mako wonders if he'll ever fit into Asami's world. Asami doesn't care.


"What are your intentions toward my daughter?"

Mako swallowed hard. His new suit, custom-tailored, felt suddenly two sizes too big. Mr. Sato's gaze was serious and intent. Not angry, exactly, but still enough to make Mako's hands tremble. He had no idea how to respond. Bolin was the one who had had girlfriends before, but none of them had fathers who would ask about his intentions. What were his intentions anyway? He liked kissing Asami, liked touching her, liked the carriage rides through the park that should have been cheesy but made him want to tear up instead. He's never had anything—anyone—like Asami before: someone good and sweet and kind who would take care of _him_. But wasn't an intention, was it? "I really like her," Mako tried lamely.

Hiroshi sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "She likes you, too. As more than a passing fancy, I think." Something else that might have been grief or anger crept into his voice. "I gave you the entry fee because I like your ambition. Asami is a generous girl. She gives without a second thought. But eventually, you have to give back or you'll both resent it. Are you following me?"

Mako shook his head.

"Exactly what do you plan to do with the jackpot if you win it?"

Mako breathed a sigh of relief. This he could answer. "Get an apartment for me and my brother. Have a little safety net while I look for a job. The police won't take me because of my, er, history, but maybe I can get work as a security guard or something. I'm pretty good at combat bending." Hiroshi's eyes flashed and Mako held up his hands. "Not that I would ever let Asami be hurt."

"Not on purpose, no." He leaned forward in his chair. "Money ushered me and my family into a new world. It's a very nice world, and I don't miss being hungry, but it's just as vicious as the Dragon Flats Borough. You must find a way to belong here, or you'll be no good for Asami or she for you."

"What are you two going on about?"

Mako turned in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Asami strode towards them. She wore another red dress, and her bracelets and earrings glittered in the lights of the study. She looked, Mako thought, like a fairytale princess: the sort of woman warriors would fight dark spirits for. Mako remembered those stories and remembered wanting to be one of those warriors when he grew up. Then his parents had died and he had done whatever it took to survive. Asami was like a cool breeze, an ambassador from a world of magic and hope he had never thought to see again.

Hiroshi smiled at his daughter. "Just telling your young man to behave himself tonight. Enjoy your party."

Asami made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. "I can take care of myself, Dad." Then she smiled. "We'll be fine. Home by eleven, I promise." Are you ready to go, sweetie?"

Mako nodded, and Asami swept them out of the room towards her roadster. Mako had learned his girlfriend wasn't a careful driver, and he clung white-knuckled to the dash and she maneuvered the streets with a speed that should have portended a dozen traffic accidents that somehow never arrived. The wind caressed her hair and she looked wild and a bit dangerous, a woman on the lookout for the next great adventure. "What did Dad really want?" she asked as she made a hard right turn.

Mako waited for his stomach to return to its normal position. "I'm not really sure." He summarized their conversation. "Maybe he wanted to make sure I wasn't going to take advantage of you?"

"Hmm. And here I thought I was taking advantage of you." Her hands never moved from the steering wheel, but Mako swore he could feel her fingers trailing up his thigh as her voice slid over him. "He's right about one thing. I do like giving you things, but because you have a right to them."

"I do?"

"To nice clothes and good food and rides through the park every now and again? Everyone has a right to them. And—" Her voice softened as she slowed the Satomobile to a respectable speed. "Some of my school friends heard about us dating. They were so excited. The dangerous, coolly aloof probemder from the streets. How daring." This time she did put a hand on his leg, a gentle squeeze of his knee. "But you're nothing like that. You're a nice guy, and you deserve better. You belong in my world because I say you do."

Mako swallowed again and wondered what on earth he had done right. Guys like him didn't get girls like her, but here she was.

The party was a charity gala—something about an outbreak of consumption in a remote corner of the Earth Kingdom—at the home of a Fire Nation noble. Candles were everywhere, and the ballroom was festooned in reds and golds. Mako tried not to stare. Everything here seemed like it was made of money. Elephant koi on every plate. A string quartet playing in the corner, every one of their members wearing suits as nice as his. Even the servants with their silver trays were better dressed than anyone in his old neighborhood. This was Asami's world. The world where Hiroshi said Mako had to learn to belong.

The orchestra launched into a new song. Mako tensed as buried memories bubbled to the surface. His mother embracing his father on their final anniversary. Pabu climbing on a much younger Bolin's shoulders as Zolt told them not to come back. Hearing about Korra's confrontation with Amon and finding his heart in his throat. It was a song of lost love and regret, another ambassador from that strange world.

"The orchestra is just awful tonight, wouldn't you say?" said the woman next to him. She was about his own age, but Water Tribe, him what he was starting to recognize as traditional Northern wear. "Just listen to them mangling 'Among the Vines.' No sense of tempo!"

"Er," said Mako. Of all the times for Asami to go to the powder room. "They sound fine to me."

"Hmph. You must agree that the Royal Orchestra in Ba Sing Se does this sort of thing far better."

Mako didn't say anything.

"You have had the occasion to see the Royal Orchestra, have you not?" She peered at him. "Wait, I know you. You're that pro-bender everyone is talking about. My sister is positively mad for you. No wonder you think the orchestra sounds fine. I can't expect people like you to be a judge of good music."

"And who, may I ask, are people like him?" Asami's voice was ice.

The woman glared at Asami. "Really, Asami, if you're going to dally with someone beneath you, you might at least make sure that he's a charming conversationalist. Or does he have other talents that make up for his lack of polish?"

Mako wished suddenly for a hole in the floor that would swallow him. Asami had gone perfectly still and her voice was even colder than before. "He does have a great many talents. He actually faced down the Equalists to save his brother. Have the rest of us done anything about Amon besides cringe and shake our heads when he comes on the radio?"

"It's not our place—"

"Because our place is to pretend we're here for charity when we're really here for gossip? To pick apart small flaws in the music and declare ourselves connoisseurs? We're the best of the best because of our money and our breeding, we like to say. But when was the last time any of us actually did anything?"

"Asami, dear, you're getting hysterical."

"But I'm also right." She took his arm. "Sweetie, do you mind if we leave early?"

Mako took one look at Asami's face and decided he wouldn't have minded if she had asked to go to the moon. "Um, sure."

The cold was a shock after the warmth of the ballroom, and Mako shivered. Asami deflated, the fury that had animated her face and voice leaving as suddenly as it had arrived. "I'm sorry I made a scene," she whispered. "I just got so angry. You're worth a hundred of her."

"Even though I don't know anything about music?" He imagined a thousand such parties stretching out over decades and thought he understood Hiroshi. "I mean, my parents liked music before—well, before. After that there wasn't any time."

"I slept through most of my lessons, if that's any comfort." Asami looked at him, and the softness in her face made his mouth went dry. Not pity, not condescension. Tenderness. How long had it been since someone had looked at him like that? "Did you really like the orchestra?"

"Then last song was…pretty." Mako reached for some more fitting description, but couldn't find it. "It reminded me of a lot of things I thought I had forgotten. Were they really that bad?"

"No, just not up to some people's rarefied standards. And by standards, I mean snobbery. My music teachers would have killed for any of us to play that well." She cocked her head to one side. "Follow me. Dad's not expecting us back for at least an hour."

She led him to the side of the mansion. He could hear the orchestra playing through the window, but the conversation of the guests was a dim murmur. "Much better," Asami said. "I told you. You have a right to these things. More right than they do."

"Beautiful," he said. "But I still don't—I don't know if I can ever fit in."

"I can't help you there. I don't care about them. I care about things that matter like actually helping people. And I suppose about beautiful music. Do you really want to know more?"

To see a little more of that beautiful world where life was more than just survival? Where you could afford to be idealistic and to feel things? He nodded.

"Well, let me see what I remember. I think this piece dates to time of Fire Lord Sozin. It was considered very scandalous because…"

They stood like that, in a world of music and history and ideas, until the orchestra packed up and left. It was, perhaps, the world where they could both find a place to belong.


End file.
